Undeserved Consequences  Eliza Snow
by librarylemming
Summary: This is the Last Hunger Games to be held, and the participants only chilren from the capitol. Eliza Snow, President Snows granddaugher, knows she will be chosen to die. Will she be the last to survive, or will Katniss make sure she is first to go?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, this is the story of the Final Hunger Games, with the main character being President Snow's Daughter, Eliza (I named her). I hope it is okay, and it is hopefully going to be quite long, so enjoy. If you read this, please review – it means a lot to me, and I promise to read/review your stories, or at least reply to your review. Thanks a bunch! **

**Disclaimer: I own none of this – the characters names and basic idea was mine, but it is all based on the book by Suzanne Collins (who is AWESOME), so yeah. I own nothing.**

I wasn't ready. Wasn't prepared. Didn't want to do it – to go out there. But I had to – it was either do it, and most likely be killed, or DON'T do it and _definitely _be killed. Even a fool would know what to choose, and let's just say this – I am no fool. I studied myself in the mirror, satisfied with the dress that my mother had chosen for me. It was an emerald green, with a sweetheart neckline, falling to just above my knees in waves of flowing material. I didn't look half bad in it, which was a start, and the colour made my green eyes stand out and my blonde hair glow in a slightly ethereal manner. Mother said it 'suited' me. Great. So looking nice on the day of my death sentence: check.

Fantastic.

Ever since it had been announced that there would be one final hunger games – for the children of the capitol – I knew that it would mean me. It was well known that the Mockingjay hated President Snow, and it had been passed around that the fact that I – his granddaughter Eliza – was still alive, was one of the key reasons that the Mockingjay had voted _yes_ for another hunger games. To get back. At the Capitol…and at my good-for-nothing granddad.

I didn't understand how SHE of all people, who KNEW about how unfair it was to be punished for another's actions, how awful it as to be told to 'kill or be killed', how disgusting it was that kids were being sent to die. She went through it, _twice_, and now she has the AUDACITY to inflict that kind of pain, suffering, and torture on others – their family, friends, community, and on the people themselves.

"ELIZA, TIME TO GO," my mother yelled from downstairs.

I sighed, gave one last glance in the mirror, and headed out the door.

Towards the reaping.

Where I would be told, properly, that I was to be a participant in the final hunger games.

It's really depressing to realise that your death equals the happiness of others – because once I die (and be sure of this, I will die – I am sure that the Mockingjay will make it happen one way or another) the people will think that justice has been served to the Snow family.

No one cares about me, no one cares about what I want, or think, or believe; all anyone has ever seen is that I am President Snow's granddaughter, and that I MUST die, to atone for all his wrongdoings. Because, oh no, I MUST be exactly like him – there just isn't another possibility. I have been labelled, since the Uprising. And that label has been stuck onto me with super glue.

I can't change it.  
And no one wants to.

All they want to see is what they believe is going to make the past better.

And I hope that once this is over, they will never do it again. I hope that if I die, this will all stop. That no one else will have to pay for what my family did – that no one will face the consequences that another deserves.

This thought is what I held on to as I walked out the door and towards the reaping. But let me tell you this, even with me holding on to this idea as tight as I possibly could, this still occurred to me:

It never is, and never will be, a good time to die.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: here is the next chapter, and I know that there are probably a few mistakes here with regards to setting and stuff, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless. I shall post another chapter soon, maybe even today if my finger don't fall off, so yeah. Hope you like it – please review even if you don't!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

I stood still, waiting patiently for my name to be called as I knew it would be. The sun was beating down and the smell of sweat from those nearby was so cloyingly strong that soon there was nothing else _to_ smell. The end was inevitable – it was the wait that drove everyone near mad with apprehension and anxiety. My eyes were transfixed on the speaker, who repeated the same thing that was always repeated during these events, but soon he blurred out of focus. I blurred out of focus. Zoning out, grabbing a few seconds of thoughtless bliss until I was pushed forward by those behind me.

My name had been called.

I walked up the stage in a daze, letting my feet carry me to where I was expected to go. I stopped next to the speaker, stared out to the audience. I wasn't going to be the only girl, of course. The Hunger Games participants were all to be Capitol kids – there were another 11 girls yet to be chosen. The silence was profound as more girls were called onto the stage. Every single one of them walked with a look of desolation and resignation. Everyone knew why this was happening. After years of having control and power, this is what we had to show for it. 24 girls and boys, sent to die, for my grandfather. Because of him, I was going into an arena to watch kids that I grew up with be picked off by each other until one remained. In the past, I was horrified at it, but I had accepted it as part of life. It was what it was. But now…now I was stung by the unfairness of it all.

The logical part of me could rationalise with it. I mean, it made sense. But I still don't understand how anyone can reasonably go through with doing this.

But anyway. I shouldn't dwell.

I have to focus on strategies.  
On getting through this. If that is even possible for a girl like me with a last name like Snow.

I was crying. I didn't even realise, but my cheeks were wet and my sight was blurry.

I was scared. Terrified, right to my very core. What were these kids going to do to me? I looked down the stage. Those faces could mask unimaginable horrors that would come my way, or they could be just regular people, like me, frightened of the future. Knowing that only one of us was going to survive…but which one? Some kids looked back at me, their faces a reflection of my own, but others stolidly looked out into space.

One particular person caught my eye and held it – Zambia Lokos. She grimaced at me, sharing a look of 'well, honey, there ain't nothing we can do' before staring back at the speaker. I was surprised, as we hadn't talked since we were 10. We had had a stupid falling out over some doll or who knows what, and as a result of certain situations, we just never tried to be friends again. And I doubted she would want to be now.

The speech was over, and we were herded off the stage like sheep. The silence was profound – there was no chatter, or whispered asides, all of us caught up in our own thoughts. We were told that we would be taken by bus to the training centre, but first we would get to say goodbye to our family and friends, if we so desired.

So there we were.

All waiting inside Capitol Hall to say goodbye to our families.

The tears wouldn't stop falling. I tried to be strong, but every attempt just made me crumble, my legs were jelly and I knew that a breakdown wasn't far off. But I had to wait until the bus. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to get on it – and who knew what would happen then?

Choking back a sob, I stood up tall and searched for the face of my mum coming through the doors. Searched for the face of someone who loved me. Searched for the face of someone that wanted to say goodbye.

An hour went by, and the numbers in the hall dwindled as people came and left. All those who had finished saying goodbye were on the bus. The minutes ticked by, and soon all that was left was the two guards whose job it was to make sure we didn't go anywhere, and another boy who looked about a year older than me. I could see him struggling to keep it together, as I was. Our eyes were trained on the door, waiting for it to open to a familiar face, waiting for someone, anyone to show that they cared…

But no one came.

No one bothered.

Eventually, the guards had had enough, pushing us together and out the door.

"What a sad, sorry pair," the one to my left said. "No one even bothered to say g'bye."

"They deserve it, mate, they're Capitol children," said the other, laughing at the end of it.

I looked down at my feet, forcing myself not to cry. And then the strangest thing happened – the boy took hold of my hand. And squeezed.

And the urge to cry just stopped, and I could breathe again. We got on the bus, leaving those idiotic guards behind, and walked past the staring children, walked right to the back and sat together, not saying a word – heck, I didn't even know his _name_ – but there we sat, bound together by the shared feeling of being forgotten, uncared for, unloved.

Zambia turned around and caught me eye again, and made a little movement of her hands which linked her pinkies together, and I smiled. It was what we used to do as friends – link our pinkies and walk together wherever we went.

I did the same.

And then, as the bus lurched forwards to the training centre, I realised this: I am not alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Another chapter...that's three today. I hope that they have been okay, and haven't made many mistakes. But anyways, I hope you enjoy, and please please PLEASE review, even if you don't like it. So here it is...SMILE! :)**

**Disclaimer: own nothing.**

Let it be known that having four layers of skin ripped off, every single hair except the ones on your head plucked out, and stinging 'cleansing' cream being rubbed into your body is _not_ any sane persons idea of a fun time. My styling team remained silent the entire time – it seemed that I attracted silence anywhere I went – and I swear they took delight in causing me the MOST amount of pain humanly possible. They jerked me this way, that way, pulling, prodding, poking, stretching and just outright pinching me as they examined my body from top to bottom. They left no crevice unchecked – I doubt that I had a single freckle they didn't know was there. I was embarrassed, my cheeks a constant flush of deep red, and I was in pain. Not a good mix. It didn't help that one member of the team was a guy, and studying me clearly brought him a disgusting sense of pleasure.

I felt violated.

And dirty. Even though they made SURE I was squeaky clean.

I begged that my stylist would come soon – anything to give me reprieve from the team. After another hour of torture, she arrived.

All five feet of her.

She was tiny, clearly, but she emanated an air of authority and I got the sense that she was a woman who was used to getting her way.

Her brown hair was slicked back into a tight bun, and she wore minimal make-up. And yet, even I could see that she was beautiful. All angles and points. A sharp kind of beautiful. Her short blue dress was stylish in its simplicity. I could only hope that she could try to make my outfit nice, but there was this slightly paranoid part of me that believed she was here only to sabotage any chance I have in the arena.

"Hello, I am your stylist. I don't want to know your name, and you don't need to know mine. If you must address me, just call me Miss. Are we clear?" she stated briskly, pulling out her bag of material which I assumed held my costume.

"Y-yes. Perfectly," I replied, somewhat shocked by her abrupt manner.

"Good. And don't stammer, child. People can't understand you and they prefer children who can speak CLEARLY and get their point across. You stammer, you lose their attention. You lose their attention – you're as good as dead. Now, this Hunger Games is a bit different – instead of your costume reflecting your district, we shall be reflecting your personality or a distinguishing trait instead. Now, you will go put this on, right away, and come back out so I can make the necessary alterations," she finished, barely paying me a second glance as she pushed some material into my hands.

I was yanked by the team and they expertly put whatever it was that Miss had designed for me on. For a moment the thought crossed my mind that she hadn't even bothered to discuss with me her idea, that she didn't know me from a bar of soap and yet had decided that the costume that best represented me was what she had made? Ridiculous. But I resigned to the whims and wishes of my team, waiting until they were done and I was pushed in front of Miss for an evaluation.

I hadn't even had the chance to look in the mirror, and when I tried to Miss grabbed me by the shoulders to face her.

"Face me. I am not dressing you up for your personal gain; it is for others to view. So save the self admiration for later, when you are not wasting my time. Okay? Now face me, and let me see what needs to be adjusted," she said concisely, not allowing me to reply…or move, for that matter.

I let her work, with my own thoughts to keep me company. I remembered sitting on my grandfather's knee when I was younger, listening to him relay decisions about all the districts, remember his laugh in my ear as he recalled atrocities that he had set against them, remembered mum having to come and take me away from him as I cried and cried and cried about all that he had told me…

"Done," Miss said satisfactorily.

I glanced up at her in surprise.

"You're done?" I asked.

"What, so not only do you stutter, want to admire yourself in the mirror and refuse to stand still so I can fix the outfit, you are now deaf as well," she said accusingly, but with a spark of humour in her eyes, I noticed.

"And now, it is time to go. You look exactly as I imagined, let's hope it all works. Come on, people, let's head downstairs," Miss directed, leading us out the door and making sure I couldn't get a glance of myself in the mirror by standing directly in my line of sight.

I was escorted by Miss to where the chariots awaited us – waited to show for the last time Tributes of the Hunger Games.

"Because of the change in the dress this year, you have been partnered with a boy who has a similar personality or trait that has been reflected in his costume. It's purely presentation wise – nothing to do with who you should work with or who we believe you should be allied with," Miss told me, quickening her pace past some of the other designers, I noticed.

I was lead to my chariot – third from the front – and saw who my partner was to be.

Hand-holding boy. Of course. Not that I minded, I mean he looked quite handsome in his outfit – deep hues of red and purple which I took to reflect the passionate side of him (or maybe the bruised side) – but I didn't want anyone I knew (even through a brief moment of sensitivity and the shared feelings of being uncared for) to be hurt in the Games by being even remotely allied with me. After all, I was a Snow – my family killed people, made people's lives living hells, made things awful in general – and I must be punished for it. I couldn't bear to think that this boy would be dragged down with me. Or anyone, really.

I stepped into the chariot, when Miss pulled my head down to say something in my ear.

"When you get halfway across, and where everyone can see you, press this," she whispered, gesturing a flower that was pinned up on my left side. I hadn't even noticed it was there.

"Sure thing," I replied. "What does it do?"

Miss smiled, a very knowing smile that both infuriated me and made me reassured that it wasn't something bad.

"You'll see," she said simply, before turning on her heel and walking out.

And before I could ask her for more, we were being lined up and hustled out in the chariots. It didn't take very long for it to be our turn. I glanced to the Boy and he gave me a slight smile before facing the lights that would be trained on us so everyone could see. I took a deep breath and prepared for the onslaught of sound, sight and smell. I put on my best soft but not smiling face and waited.

I saw myself on the big TV's that were placed around, just in case people couldn't see me properly.

Miss had captured me in the most infuriating way possible – I only hoped that the little button would magically make it better.  
I was a rose. She had dressed me as a rose. My grandfather's trademark. I couldn't believe it. My hair was pinned up expertly on the top of my head, with a few blonde strands left loose to dangle softly on the sides of my face. My make-up was basically just enough to not look pale, but was simple. A little blush on my cheeks, but nothing else. But it wasn't the make-up, or the hair, it was the dress.

It was red, tight at the top, strapless, with tiny swirling patterns of deep red flowers pinned to it. But at the waist it flared out, millions of layers looking like petals on a rose – and I was the stem. The stem of it all. I was so busy seething over the dress, and what it meant, that I almost missed my cue to press the mysterious button. I discreetly reached up and pressed it, and was astonished to hear the audience gasp. At first, thought it must be one of the tributes behind me, but when I looked at the screen again, I saw that it was because of me.

My dress was falling away.

Piece by piece, unravelling at the seams, falling to floor like...like...petals. Slowly dropping off, eventually revealing what was underneath: a simple, tight, beautifully stunning white dress.

I was amazed.

For someone who knew next to nothing, Miss had depicted me perfectly.

I wasn't my grandfather. I wasn't the rose that everyone wanted me to be so they could justify their loathing and their actions.

I was Eliza. Eliza Snow. Hunger Games Tribute.

Determined to be her own person...even if that person wasn't going to survive much longer.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Yes, I have been updating heaps. I HAVE TIME! Love the holidays...anyways, here is yet another chapter. I hope it is going okay, and that I haven't totally made any of you get angry saying OH NO THIS GIRL IS AWFUL – RUINED IT...Please read and review if you can, it'd be really awesome! Anyways, enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing – just Suzanne Collins pure awesome, me trying (and most likely failing) to even slightly replicate it.**

Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, sleep wouldn't come. It didn't matter how comfortable the bed was - moulding itself perfectly to the shape of my body - or that there were no distractions. It was all in my head.

As per usual.

Thoughts were racing around, endless circles forever doomed to repeat themselves, and I could do nothing to make them stop. Sleep wouldn't come, the door was locked (I had checked before, after an hour of not being able to sleep, I thought a walk might help), and there was nothing and no one to pull me away from the thoughts that plagued my mind.

Tomorrow was the first day of training, and I had yet to meet my mentor. This year's Hunger Games had been so...so..._different _to the normal routine that we went through. Everything was out of place. All children from the same district, no pairing, mentors introduced at the last minute...it was all crazy, disorganised and it drove me near mad with frustration. I thought that the one thing I could rely on was my past knowledge of the Games - my grandfather had hammered into me the importance of structure in each Games, the purpose of everything, that everything had it's place, that nothing was there for no reason - but now even that was gone. My one-up had disappeared. And I was left with...what?

Nothing.

I was left with my grandfather's name, which had earned me the instant hate of most of the population. Hate that would influence a sponsor's decision, hate that would mean that from the very start, the moment the games begun, I would be at the bottom of the pile. I'd love to say that I can live with that, but honestly I don't believe that is true.

It would most likely get me killed.

Sighing, frustrated, I pushed myself up from the bed and went to the window. From where I was standing, I could see most of the Capitol. Could see lights in some houses, and I could almost imagine the people inside, living their lives, never having to fear another Games again - not for them, or their children, or their friends' children...and it continued.

I knew that 24...or should I say 22...houses down there were probably not sleeping as a result of their children being placed in this building to prepare for their deaths. 22 families, subjected to sleepless nights, stressful days, all waiting for the final outcome. And just like the kids were going to be in the arena, those families were already against each other - wanting their kid to be the one to survive, no matter the cost. It was barbaric.

This whole idea was barbaric.

I mean, hell, we were all from the same DISTRICT. In the end, there would be nothing to stop those families from hating each other, trying to make each other's lives as miserable as possible to compensate for the loss of a child. I hoped that it would be okay. I hoped that that wouldn't happen. But the likelihood was about as high kids getting into that arena and killing each other.

Those lights.

Those families.

Those broken hearts.

I leaned my head against the glass, pleased by the cold feeling against my cheek. I suddenly noticed that I was incredibly clammy - beads of sweat had broken out across my forehead, and my arm was sticky and warm. Pulling my eyes away from the view, I went back to bed. During the time I had stood staring out the window, my eyelids had grown heavy, and I wanted to encourage the feeling so I could actually get some sleep for tomorrow. I settled into bed, allowing sleep to leaden my muscles and drag me into the haze that it offered - I accepted willingly, offering no resistance, letting it take me over, take control, take me...take me...take me...

"AAAAAAAHHHHH!" I screamed, startled out of the depths of the dream I had just had.

It was an Avox, servant of the Capitol, his face mere inches away from mine. He had woken me with a slight shake of my shoulder, but I hadn't been expecting him so close. His eyes gazed intently into mine, a wondrous shade of brown - deep and rich, and he stayed there for a few seconds before leaving at a brisk pace. But before he closed the door, he gestured to my clothes, and then tapped his wrist twice. I glanced at the clock - I had very little time before I was expected downstairs for breakfast, followed soon after by meeting the mentors. The rest of the day would be spent training.

Rushing, trying to dispel the last remnants of sleep which clouded my brain, I dressed in a hurry - simple, stretchy black pants which allowed for easy movement with little restriction, and a plain white button up t-shirt. I pulled on my boots - expensive, true, but of good quality and provided for both comfort and support. My mother wouldn't allow anything less. I went into the bathroom, washed my face quickly and gargled a swig of water in my mouth to get rid of the stagnant taste in my mouth. If I brushed my teeth properly, it would ruin my meal - and I needed to have that in order to conserve my strength for the training session.

Quick glance in the mirror. I looked okay. Good enough. Pulling my hair into a pony-tail, I left the room, closing the door with a soft _snick_. I walked towards the elevator at the end of the hall. It was made to look like gold - another example of how rich the capitol was. Or at least, it used to be. Ever since the rebellion, I honestly had no idea what was going to happen to this place. But for now, for this last Hunger Games, it was the most ideal spot to house the tributes. Everything was here, ready and waiting. There would be no point changing venues.

_Ding. _

I stepped in, pressed the button, and the doors were closing when a hand suddenly shot out and the doors slid back open.

It was the Boy, accompanied by Zambia. I moved to the side, allowing them space. The silence that followed the final closing of the doors was an uncomfortable one, each of us not knowing whether to break the silence, or just wait out the ride. Eventually, Zambia spoke up.

"So...uh...Eliza. I am not sure if you two know each other properly yet, but this is Anders," she said somewhat awkwardly, gesturing to the Boy. "And Anders, as you may have guessed, this is Eliza."

The Boy, I mean Anders, offered me a small smile and extended his hand.

"How do you do? A fine day to train for your death, ain't it?" he said, smirking.

I shook his hand. This was odd - before, we had held hands, offered support, felt the same pain, thought the same thoughts, in some ways getting to know each other more than words could express - and yet, now, I had properly met him. I smiled back. He had nice hair, slightly curly, strawberry blond in colour. His eyes - a light blue which I could imagine to be playful in any other situation - looked sad.

"Yeah, it is. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the weapons are being sharpened..."I replied. To my relief, he smiled.

The elevator dinged again, and we were released out onto the floor where the cafeteria was situated. We all headed off, and the silence that fell wasn't half as bad as that in the elevator. It was somewhat...comfortable. Or at least, it wasn't as poignant or blatantly obvious. As we drew closer to the cafeteria doors, I could already hear the murmur of voices spilling out - clearly, we were one of the last few down. Anders pushed open the doors and gestured for Zambia and I to head through first.

All the tributes were sitting in small groups - none any bigger than four - and no one was by themselves. Grabbing a tray and filling it up, I went to head to one of the empty silver tables. On my way I noticed more than one person stare at me as I walked past - some glanced away as soon as I looked at them, but others just continued staring unabashedly. It was a little unnerving, to say the least, and I had to fight the urge to yell at every single one of them "WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?" Instead, I ignored them as best I could, focusing on my table and heading towards it like an alcoholic might head towards a bottle of the finest port. It was nothing short of a relief to sit down and turn my back on the rest of the tributes. I looked down glumly at my tray - simple food, nothing special. Cereal, a piece of toast with jam, a couple of biscuits and a glass of juice.

"Mind if we sit here?" a voice behind me asked.

Startled, I turned to see who the voice belonged to.

Zambia, with her new buddy Anders. I shrugged, turning back to my tray and started eating. From the corner of my eye I saw them exchange a glance, then pull out their chairs and sit down - Zambia next to me and Anders across from me.

"So, you guys excited to find out your who your mentors are? I wonder how they are gonna pair people, now that we are all from the same district..." Zambia rambled. I had begun to notice that she was the kind of girl that felt she had to fill a silence. I wasn't quite sure if it was a trait I liked, or loathed.

"Honestly? I couldn't care less. It makes no difference," Anders replied, voice slightly muffled to the piece of toast he had just stuffed into his mouth. Attractive look. I gave him a pointed glance - at least he had the decency to look slightly embarrassed and cover his mouth.

"Well I, for one, hope that I get paired with someone good. I mean, it might be handy to have a male ally in the games...you never know...and the mentors? You need a good one. How can you say that? They play such an integral role...I mean, for one, they do their best to keep you _alive_, which is always helpful, and not only that..." Zambia continued, waffling on and basically providing us with a one woman show.

I did my best to tune her out, but she had a valid point. About the mentor part, at least. I didn't want an ally, or need one - it would only get them killed easier, and there was always the chance that I would be betrayed, which couldn't happen. But the mentor. That _was_ important. As much as I'd like to think it would be just me in the arena, it wasn't true. Someone would be behind the scenes, working out sponsorships, sending me the vitals, (hopefully) trying to keep me alive.

A good mentor was definitely important.

"EARTH TO ELIZA!" Zambia said, waving her hand in front of my face. "Were you even listening? Doesn't matter, anyway, but you might want to pay attention to _this _guy. Just an idea."

She pointed towards a middle-aged man wearing a grey suit with dark hair heading towards the front of the cafeteria. Within a few seconds, he turned around and boldly addressed all the tributes in the room.

"Good morning, tributes. Today will be your first day of training. As you may know, this Hunger Games has had to be a little different, due to the rebellion and all. Rules have been changed. Firstly, your partner that will share your mentor and that will also work with you during your training has been randomly selected. You will still be partnered with that of the opposite gender, as per tradition, but other than that it will be random.

"Furthermore, the mentors this year are all volunteers. A few members of the group have been previous Games winners, and have wanted to help with the final Games. The remaining few have been chosen for their talent and experience in the past, even if it hasn't been in the Games. You are not at any disadvantage if you do not have an ex-Games participant as each mentor has been trained in the duties and responsibilities that is expected of them, and personally I believe they are all equally good. They have also been chosen at random for you. So now that that has been explained, let me call out Miss Smythen to tell you your pairings and your mentors. Thank you," he finished expertly, and he left his place.

Soon a tall plump woman stood where he was previously standing, her blonde hair frizzed and slightly crazed looking.

"Good morning. Here are your pairings. Eliza Snow," she begun, and my heart took flight, even though it wasn't the pairing that I was worried about. "Eliza Snow, you shall be paired with Xavier Kountze."  
I took a quick glance around the room, to see who she was talking about, only to meet the eyes of a dark boy - dark eyes, dark hair, dark skin (clearly from too much sun). He smiled sardonically, giving me a half wave, before proceeding to stick up his middle finger. Somehow, I didn't think he liked me very much. Call it a hunch.

"Your mentor," Miss Smythen continued after seeing that me and my partner were well acquainted. "Will be Katniss Everdeen."

Fan.

Bloody.

Tastic.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Well, so far so okay. I ****haven't comletely lost my hope to write, or lost inspiration. thanks to those who are still reading/actually WANT to read. Please review, it really means a lot. This chapter is dedicated to my granddad, who just recently came out of a pretty major surgery. This one is for him - for his faith in me.****  
****Disclaimer: I don't own the hunger games, not at all. But Eliza, and Xavier, and most of the tributes for that matter, are entirely my creation, as well as the basic idea. **

Fingers snapping in front of my face. The cafeteria came blurring back into focus – along with the noise. It all came crashing back.  
"FOCUS," Zambia yelled in my face. "HELLO. YOU HAVE TO GO NOW. LIKE, RIGHT THIS MINUTE. You have been called and I don't want to know what happens if you DON'T go."  
Startled, I shook my head, trying to clear away the web of shock that had spun itself in my head. I looked at her, mouth agape, before standing up and making my way towards the exit.

Katniss. Was. My. Mentor.  
Katniss.

The name hissed inside my head, like a feral cat when someone had encroached on its territory. I had enough trouble believing that she was the person to vote YES to this awful final Games, and NOW she had _volunteered_ to see kids through to their _death_?It was incomprehensible, inconceivable…

It was so Katniss.

I dumped the remains of my tray in the bin right near the door. I was about to push the doors open, when an arm blocked my path.  
"Going somewhere without me, partner? I'm hurt. Deeply cut. I don't know how I will go on," a sardonic voice said to me.

It wasn't very hard to figure it out.

"Xavier. Move," I replied, still in too much shock to be bothered coming up with a witty comeback.

"Aw, come on, babe. If you want to survive, we are going to have to work _together_. And I don't mean in the games, toots."

Frustrated, I ducked under his arm and out the door. Not only would I have to put up with Katniss, woman who would love to kill me, I would have to put up with an ass like him for a partner. Great. Now my chances of lasting ten minutes in the arena had dwindled down to five.

All I had left was me. All I could rely on was me. Sure, Zambia and Anders were nice now, but in the arena who knew what would happen? It was every person for themselves, no exceptions. Having an ally would be nice, but it wasn't necessary. And being me, an ally could just as well be an enemy in disguise. I couldn't risk it. I wanted to survive – simple as that.

A strong hand grabbed my arm a little too hard, digging in the nails. I gasped and turned around.

"We're meant to stick together, babe. No wandering off. Besides, you are heading in the wrong direction. Wouldn't want to miss our first meeting with our mentor, now do we?" he says darkly, as he squeezes my arm again.

I glared at him, to which he returned with a smile. Without letting go of me, he led me down the corridor. With nothing better to do, I studied my so-called 'partner'.

Tall. He was definitely tall. He stood almost a head taller than me, giving him the extra advantage. He was strong too, which was why my arm was going numb in his grasp. I could see his muscles bunching up underneath his tight t-shirt. Normally having a strong, tall, confident partner was a good thing – history of the Games dictates this – but when he hated you…well, not so much.

"Can you let go now? I don't need to be led around like some common household pet," I spat, trying to wrench my arm from his iron grip.

Again, he smiled – a smile which I was beginning to loathe in its falseness. He let go, only to grab my hand instead.

"Sorry, got to make sure you stick with me. No exceptions," he replied.

I fumed. Eventually, we reached the door which I could only assume our mentor stood behind. It was like every other door – simple in design, nothing to make it stand out as anything other than what it was – and yet it sparked so much hate, so much anger, and so much fury in me. I yanked my hand out of Xavier's and wrenched the door open without further thought.

Might as well rip it off like a band-aid.

And there she stood. In all her glory - The Mockingjay. Lucky me.

We weren't greeted with a smile or a hello. In fact, I wasn't greeted with anything. Katniss' eyes passed directly over me and focused their attention on Xavier. She studied him, and I felt him shift under the strength of her gaze.

"Strengths," she said, directly to him. "What are your strengths?"

From the look on his face, he was dumbfounded. Good.

"Uh…um…well, I am strong, as you have probably guessed," Xavier replied, flexing his muscles. "Pretty good with hands-on combat. Weapons don't usually work for me. But, in saying that, I am good with a knife."

Katniss nodded, taking this in.

"Well, you will of course have to play to your strengths, but make sure when you are training that you only focus on your weaknesses. Well, at least make them a high priority. There is no point wasting your precious time on things that you already know – save that for your last day, and do a brush up. Otherwise, save up your secrets for the arena, learn things that you don't know already and most of all – use your instinct. You'll be surprised how well your instinct can take care of you," she listed, and I didn't miss that this was all for Xavier. Not once did she spare a glance my way. Not once did she even make any motion that I was present in the room.

The room, I might add, looked like some sort of conference room. A large glass table was in the centre, surrounded by a group of twenty or so chairs. Above the table was an expensive looking chandelier – all crystal tiers. I wondered why she would have chosen this room, and why not sit? Obviously, she wasn't planning on us making a long visit.

Xavier nodded at her, but I could tell from the look in his eyes that he knew most of this already. Two words – Common sense.

We stood there in silence, Xavier apparently lost in his own thoughts – planning, most likely – and me just waiting for Katniss to speak to me. But she was staring out the window.

"You may go," was all she said, not even bothering to drag her gaze away. "See you after training."

I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe _her_. Sure, I knew she hated me. Plain to see. But she couldn't even _try_, not even _pretend_ to help me. To keep me alive. Not even an acknowledgement of my existence. I guess I could use her advice, but she was a freaking VOLUNTEER. She _wanted _to do this. What was the point of signing up for something you had no intention of following through with?

She made no sense. Not as a woman, not as a tribute, not even as a human being. Her morals were conflicting, her ideas were plain STUPID, and whenever I tried to imagine as to WHY she did the things that she did, I end up with a headache.

Yes, she hated my granddad and therefore hated me.  
Yes, life had dealt her a fateful hand which almost had her killed numerous times over.  
Yes, she was well within her rights to be messed up.

But why drag others into it? Why do something half-heartedly? Why set yourself up to be this person, and then totally screw up that image? Why did she have to be my MENTOR? It was random, I know, but why else would she have volunteered? Just to screw me over, that's why. And with her influence, I doubt that there was any _chance_ involved, now was there.

Couldn't she just be happy that she had already sentenced me to my death in the exact same way my grandfather had tried to do to her twice in the past, couldn't she then leave me be? Give me a fighting chance?

She was just as bad as someone attacking an unarmed, defenceless man that had his back turned. It was cheap, dirty, and downright unfair. She sickened me. I couldn't stand to be near her.

"Good to see you so willing to see a child die, Katniss. You are punishing me for what my grandfather did. I got news – I hated him. I never stood by anything he did, never agreed to anything he said, never wanted to have anything to do with him. So go ahead, ignore me, refuse to help me, I don't care. All I ever asked for was a fighting chance, but I guess I should have expected as much from someone like you," I yelled.

Without waiting for a reply, I stormed out, slamming the door behind me. The slam shook me from head to toe, resonating deep within my chest, even though I had done it. Ducking my head down, I walked as fast as I could to the nearest elevator. I pressed the button, hard, continuously, urging the elevator to come.  
"Come on, come _on,_" I muttered underneath my breath.

I could feel the tears welling up, but I bit down hard on my lip, trying to chase away the tears with pain.

_Bing_.

I stepped in the elevator, and smashed the button which had the label 'Training Centre'.  
Tapping my foot impatiently, I waited for the number to reach the right level.

I couldn't believe myself. What had I been expecting? A hug? A good luck? Some actual _advice? _I mentally slapped myself. If I had learnt one thing today it was this – when it comes to Katniss, expect nothing. You won't be disappointed. Again, the fury sparked inside me. I was pissed off, at me in particular, for letting her infuriate me. For letting her believe that she can have control in my life. Sure, she could _influence_, but in the end, it would be me in the arena. If anything, Katniss had given me one more reason to try harder. She gave me one more reason to be me.

I didn't care if I didn't make it, I wouldn't go down without a fight.  
I needed to show that bitch who's boss.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Another chapter, done and dusted. Please review – much appreciated. Will update soon, I hope. Enjoy :) **

**Disclaimer: own nothing. Some characters are my idea, and the basic plot line is mine BUT everything else is the complete brilliance of Suzanne Collins. **

Sweat was staining my clothes, my breath was coming in pants and the fatigue in my muscles was weighing me down – but that didn't stop Xavier. Again and again he came at me with that stupid stick of his, and again and again I failed to dodge or block it, so again and again I was hit. I could practically _feel _the bruises flowering all over my body. I knew I was weak, but this was just plain humiliating.

Even worse was that awful smile he gave me every time I showed how much pain I was really in.

That bastard.

We were in the training centre, and our focus at the moment was armed combat, but for safety purposes we were using wooden sticks instead of a weapon that could cause any serious injury. I had tried to separate myself from Xavier, but the smarmy pig had attached himself to me like an unwanted growth, claiming that Katniss 'wanted us to work together as much as possible'. Personally, I just think he liked tormenting me. The look on his face each time he struck a blow was clarification enough.

He struck out again, encroaching on my personal space and making me step back. A mistake. He planned for me to do that, and he quickly swung his foot underneath me and I landed with a heavy thud, and the little breath that I had whooshed out. Before I even had the chance to get back up, his wooden stick was at my throat, and he had a wicked glint in his eye.

"Bam. Dead again, babe. Either I'm too good, which I clearly am, or you just plain _want_ to die. Ever heard of blocking, hm? No, I guess not. Oh well. Next station, shall we?" he spoke in a tone of false sweetness.

I was getting so sick and tired of him. His deceptive manner, his fake charm, that stupid twisted smile of his. I couldn't wait till I got the chance to stick it to him. It was just a matter of when…and how. Grumpy and sore, I pulled myself off the mat an headed to another station, not even bothering to glance behind and see if he was following me for I knew he was. I chose the camouflage station – one of the most boring there. For the time being, I would be satisfied with boring him to death, because I was clearly in no state to actually physically beat him at anything. I could almost hear Xavier groan internally as he saw where we were approaching. Before he could make a move away, I reached behind and grabbed his hand.

"Nah uh, remember we have to stick together? It's my turn to choose and I choose this," I said, doing my best sickly-sweet tone of voice. He narrowed his eyes at me.

Pulling him down beside me, I took a quick glance around the room to see where the others were at and I noticed the Zambia and Anders had been paired. Huh. In my state of shock I hadn't noticed. They were working on their archery, deep in concentration, and I saw that they had pretty good aim…mental note, stay away from them in the arena if they get their hands on a bow and arrow…

Working the camouflage was relaxing, in a way, as well as useful, I noticed. I was decent at being able to work and manipulate things to make them virtually disappear – a tool that would be helpful in the Games, especially if I was as useless at all combat as I was earlier on. One look at Xavier's bundled mess told me that he had clearly failed in more ways than one. That was good. One thing that wouldn't be a problem in the arena would be finding Xavier. I just had to look for a big mess that stuck out like a sore thumb and I would be good as gold.

"That's it, I have had enough. Katniss wanted another meeting, remember? Might as well go – training today is almost over, and there is no point moving to another station now. Unless you want to go back to combat, toots, because I am always happy to flip you on your ass," Xavier stated in that annoying manner of his.

Oh well, at least I knew that he had failed at something and had wounded his overblown ego. He knew I knew it too.

"Sure thing," I replied, staring overtly at his awful camouflage attempt. His jaw clenched and he got up abruptly, pulling me up as well with a hard yank of my arm. He really had to stop doing that.

Again, it was time to face her. Katniss. As soon as we reached the door Xavier spared no hesitation to ripping it open and pushing me in first, using most of his strength. Needless to say I stumbled. Katniss just watched us, no emotion on her face but a look of thoughtful planning. I didn't even want to know what she had to say – I was only here because I was required to. It never was dictated that I had to actually listen.

"Tomorrow you will have to face the judging panel. Xavier, what have you planned to show them?" Katniss asked, again blocking me out both in words and manner.

"A show of strength, speed and agility. Sort of like an obstacle course –give them everything I've got in the quickest way possible," he replied without pause. Whether knowingly or unintentionally, he flexed his muscles as he said this. Either way it was a jerk of a habit of his.

"Good, okay. Just make sure it isn't anything run-of-the-mill, be a little daring, otherwise you will just be like every other tribute that has gone through.

No duh. No, Katniss, he was planning on being boring and unoriginal, he WANTS to score a 4. I shook my head. Some kind of mentor she was. I sighed heavily, trying to control my frustration and anger. It wasn't working very well. Being in this very room with a woman like her was enough to drive me insane. I couldn't wait to get out. To get back to my room. To get back to my own thoughts, untainted by her presence or Xavier's comments. I just needed to get out…to plan…to think…

"Good, now rest up, and don't wear yourself out too much tomorrow before you show the panel. Conserve your energy," Katniss finished.

Thank you, Captain Obvious for your helpful advice. I turned and left that room, bee-lining for the elevator. I felt someone's presence behind me, and low and behold it was Xavier. I knew he had to use the elevator, but did he have to stand so damn close to me?

"What do you want, Xavier? Huh? Ever heard of personal space?" I asked angrily, punching the 'up' button again.

His silence made me look at him, for it was so unheard of (hah, I made a joke) that it piqued my curiosity. He folded his arms and stared at me, eyes boring into mine. I didn't want to deal with him – not now or ever. In less than a week I would be carted off into the arena, and he and I would be enemies, standing in each other's way of a chance at life. Again, I was struck by how sick this was. Sending children to kill for their own life, while preparing them in partners. Encouraging you to work together, and then saying 'that's enough, now start killing'. People fight for their lives enough without making a Game out of it…

"What do you plan to do for tomorrow?" he questioned, no hint of his smarmy attitude.

The elevator arrived, and we both stepped in.

"Why do you care, anyway? Am I suddenly important? Face it, you are going to have to kill me soon. There is no reason for you to play nice. I have nothing to offer – nothing that you need. I am not a good ally. So just go ahead and ignore me. I know the facts and I know where I stand. I am going to be one of the first to die, especially if Katniss has her say. You don't need a dead weight, and that is exactly what I am. So cut the crap," I snapped at him.

The lift rose, carrying the weight of my words. Xavier looked at me, still standing with his arms crossed. I avoided his eye, staring at the numbers as they slowly rose. Only a couple more floors…

"So I take it you have no idea what you are doing," he replied simply, seemingly ignoring my angry rant.

Surprised, and somewhat taken aback, I laughed.

"Yes, I guess you could say that."  
He nodded thoughtfully, the corners of his mouth turned down.

"Well, then. Good luck. Might I suggest you just hiding from the panel? You could just never go in and claim you were there the entire time. Who knows? As you say, being who you are you are most likely going to get the lowest score, guaranteed. Do whatever you can. Me? I'm going to kick ass," Xavier said. I swear I could almost see his chest puffing out at the end of it.

The doors opened, and we stepped out, and headed our separate ways.

Xavier may be an egotistical jerk that annoyed the hell out of me, but he had a good point...

* * *

I took a deep breath, tried to steady my shaking hands and went in.

They were all sitting at their table, watching me with detached expressions. In my head, my plan was slowly crumbling away as reality came into focus. Maybe this wouldn't work. Maybe I would make a fool of myself. Maybe none of this would matter anyway. Reaching the centre of the room, I grabbed some camouflage and started preparing myself. The panel started chatting amongst themselves, clearly believing that I was just getting ready, that this wasn't part of my 'performance'. From the corner of my eye, I watched them waiting…

When I saw that none of them had their attention on me, in fact they were all facing each other now, I made my move. I jumped onto the nearest climbing equipment, swiftly pulling myself up higher and higher. I reached the rafters. Pulling myself as deep into the shadows as I could, I watched the panel. They had realised that I was gone, and were searching the room with their eyes. Some of them looked up, but their eyes passed over me without a second glance. The camouflage paint was working well. As silently as I could, I made my way along the rafters, sticking to the dark patches and making sure I only moved when they were focusing on something else. Closer and closer I got, inching to where they were. They had grown agitated, even began shouting at each other. I made my way to the end of the beam…but I wasn't close enough yet. I had to jump across.

Timing. I had to time it. From my pocket, I withdrew a stone that I had placed in their from the camouflage area down below. It was light, sure, but it was heavy enough that it would go in the direction I threw it. Weighing it in my hand, preparing it for the throw, I took aim on the other side of the room. When they had grown quiet, I chucked it. With a dull click it landed on the floor but it had the desired effect – every single member of the panel looked to where the sound had come from, which put me completely out of their line of sight, even in the peripheral. Using the distraction, I jumped. The commotion between themselves, the noise that they were making as they shouted and grew slightly paranoid as to where I was, masked the sound of my landing completely. I walked quickly across the beam, until I was right above their table.

Patiently, with all the time in the world, I waited.

"Where did she go?" one asked, dabbing his forehead with a hanky.

"Did she leave?" another asked.

"Doesn't matter – she will still get the same mark," another answered. I had already guessed as much was true – but the truth still hurt.

"Still…where is she?" the final man questioned, glancing nervously around him.

"Who cares? Waste of my time, if you ask me," the first one replied.

They had all made their way back to their seats, muttering to one another.

I took a deep breath. It looked a lot higher than it did from the ground…

No. I have to do this. Before I could convince myself otherwise, I dropped.

Right onto their table. I had checked before I made the jump – it was metal, bolted to the ground, and the top was around 5 inches thick. Even with a bad landing, I would have been alright.

Two of the men gasped in surprise, one screamed and the other simply fell off his chair.

I picked up their clipboards, wrote down my mark on each, and walked out the door without another word or glance behind me.

It felt _good._


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: another day, another update. :) Enjoy. Getting closer to the actual Games, now. Can't wait to write that. This preparation is all for a good cause – it makes me feel like this story might actually have a beginning, middle and end. So have fun, and remember to SMILE! **

**Disclaimer: own nothing. **

For what felt like the hundredth time, I cracked my knuckles in nervous anticipation. My eyes glued on the television, I wait for my score to flash up underneath my picture. I knew it was fixed, I knew, but the logical thought did not calm the nervous knots in my stomach, not one bit. In fact, they knotted even tighter, threatening to bring back up the small amount of food I had had at dinner.

Faces.  
Numbers.

Zambia scraped an eight – good for her. Similarly did Anders. I would have to ask them how they managed that, later. But in the meantime…

Crap. Xavier got a 10. Yet more fuel to blow up his ego. Not that he needed any – just looking in the mirror practically sent him into a fit of arrogant comments about himself. And tomorrow, I wouldn't hear the end of it. I could already hear his deep, annoying voice in my head. Maybe I should prepare some witty retorts, so I can at least attempt to shut him up…

My picture flashed on the screen. I held my breath. I twisted my fingers together restlessly. Waited. Waited. Waite-

A nine.  
HOW THE HELL HAD I MANAGED THAT?  
I was shocked.

Completely and utterly shocked. It was the number I had put down. The number I had written on each of their pieces of paper. They actually stuck by it? I didn't understand. It was rigged. I was meant to get…

I didn't even know.

All I did know was that Katniss would not be impressed – and that thought alone put a smile on my face. Maybe I would be okay, maybe a nine would help me through, maybe I could…

Suddenly my head was full of maybes, where before it had been filled with despair. To find hope again in a desperate situation was a curious feeling. I had a faint spark of hope. A bit of light. I wouldn't go into the Games completely resigned to my fate. I wouldn't have to. Despite my name, despite my grandfather, despite Katniss, despite the entire damn _world_ I had managed to scrape a number that might actually give me a chance of life. I had looked my reputation in the face, spat on it, and walked away laughing.

I wasn't completely in the clear, I knew that. There were still 23 other kids who wanted to live just as badly as I did. Their survival instinct rivalled mine. In the face of death, really, anything was possible.

But I had a chance. A small chance to beat the ever-surmounting odds against me. A chance to prove to everyone – including myself – that I wasn't worthless, that I wasn't just the walking dead, that I wasn't what they had pegged me to be.

That a nine, just a simple number, could mean so much to me was laughable. And that was exactly what I did. I laughed. At the fact that it had elicited such a reaction from me, at the sense of euphoria I was feeling – even in my situation, at the way things had played out. I laughed till tears rolled down my face. After so long of being dealt crap hand after crap hand, after fate had ultimately decided it had had enough of me, I liked the feeling.

I went up to my room, laid down in bed, and for the first time since the reaping I fell promptly to sleep.

"Hey, toots. Did you hear? I got a ten. Best in this group. Bound to get the attention of more than a few sponsors, eh? Stick with me and maybe some of my pure awesome will rub off on you," Xavier said haughtily, as we made our way to the conference room for another session with Katniss – this time to help plan our interview.

I couldn't help but snort at the comment.

"Oh please, Xavier. Get over yourself. If I stuck with you, all that would happen is that I'd become an egotistical, arrogant male with no concept of manners or politeness and that had the ability to piss off everyone in my presence," I replied quickly. Strangely enough, though, I found myself able to cope with the Xavier today. Well, able enough to put up with his usual self.

"Exactly. Pure awesome," he quipped, looking somewhat proud of himself.

I just rolled my eyes at him. That ten had really gone to his head. We reached the door again, and Xavier held it open for me, motioning me to go inside first.

"You call that 'no manners'?" he said, a smile in his voice.

Ignoring him, I went inside…and met the stony face of Katniss yet again, effectively killing off some of my mood. Even Xavier fell silent under her watchful gaze.

"You have a TV interview today, and you need to plan exactly how you are to present yourself before you head off to wardrobe to get changed. So how are you going to play it?" she asked, all business.

"Just me, I guess," he responded.

"Yeah, self-centred, conceited, over-confident, cocky male with a little bit of charm thrown in to win over the hearts of the female sponsors," I added without thinking. It was early. My brain to mouth filter hadn't fully kicked into gear yet. But Katniss paid no attention. Again. Surprise, surprise…

My comment, though, earned me an elbow in the ribs from Xavier. I stuck my tongue out at him – but I saw he was fighting back a smile.

"So you have it all planned, do you? Well then. Just be as charming and You as you can be. Don't forget to smile – especially for the ladies. Play the strong man, the hero, the charmer, and you will win over the crowd. They like confident – it reassures them of your place and your strength, gives them faith. And no one wants to bet on a person that will clearly loose," Katniss finished.

Was it just me, but was her final sentence directed at me? Did I catch her glancing at me quickly before directing her attention back at Xavier?  
It didn't matter. Doesn't matter. Shouldn't matter. I won't let it matter…  
And with that, we were signalled to leave. Back in the corridor, we headed up to our rooms before it came time for our preparation.

"Uh…why does she never talk to you?" Xavier asked.  
"Took you this long to figure it out? Because I am me, that's why. A Snow," I answered, somewhat snippily.

He frowned.

"Bye, Xavier. See you tonight. At the interview," I spoke, effectively cutting off the conversation before he could delve any deeper and ruin what was left of my happiness.

He just nodded, and head off in the opposite direction. With a sigh, I entered my room and waited patiently for my team to arrive. It didn't take them long.

Again, I was buffed, scrubbed, cleaned, ripped, pulled and stretched into their version of perfection. Miss came into the room and uttered barely a word; she just set to work preparing me. Again, like the previous time, she would not let me see myself in the mirror, or even look at the dress properly before it was forced onto me. All I could see was that the dress was a deep green – the colour of the dress I wore at the reaping. I could feel that it was tight, and short, but it didn't really bother me. If it was up to me I would wear my training attire to the interview, but I guess that I had to keep up with the tradition. While Miss worked busily around me - adjusting this, altering that – I was again left to entertain myself with my thoughts.

The interview should be a breeze, I thought. Nothing too hard. Just smile and nod, answer his questions, play the good girl and it would all be over soon. I wouldn't have to talk long, and the mark I received should be enough to prove myself. Just some small-talk, and it would be finished. I wasn't too fussed about it, at least.

"Done," Miss stated simply.

I nodded at her, not willing to make a fool of myself yet again in front of her. Without another word she pulled me towards the door, leading me to where the interview would be held. It had all been perfectly timed – I expected nothing less from a woman like Miss. She was organisation personified.

"Hello, Eliza, and how are you today?" asks Caesar Flickerman, his suit twinkling like the night sky. His face has a permanent smile plastered on it.

"Actually, I am quite good considering the circumstances, Caesar. And yourself?" I politely replied, smiling at the audience, the camera and at him.

"Why, my dear, I am perfectly swell. Congratulations on your score, by the way. It's pretty good!" he continued amiably.

I laughed.

"Actually, I was quite surprised. I was fully expecting a-"

_Splat_. With a thud, something landed on my arm, and my arm flared with pain for the briefest moment. Red began to seep, and at first I thought it was blood, but on further inspecti-  
_Thud. _Something else hit me, this time harder than the first.  
I was startled, shocked. I had no idea what was going on.

And then I was being attacked.

All manner of objects were being thrown at me – water bottles, food scraps, rubbish, bottle caps – almost anything in reach. The audience was angry, no, they were _furious. _Their shouts grew louder and louder, and their throws stronger. I felt nail files dig at my skin, nail polish bottles breaking on me and spraying me with their paint and glass, I felt…I felt…

Pain.  
It was all I could think about.  
They wouldn't stop. They just kept throwing. And the longer it lasted, the more angry they became, the more force they used, the more objects the decided were throw able.

Things broke on my skin, causing all kinds of cuts and scrapes. Others just left welts and bruises behind. Nothing could stop them.  
More objects.  
More shouts.  
All the noise blended into a big cacophony of sound, nothing individual or distinguishable, all just a rising tide that threatened to pull me under.

Pain. The Pain. The _pain_…

And then there was a hand. Pulling me away. Directing me out of the lights, out of the camera's eye, out of the aim of the audience.

Then there was a voice. Trying to calm me. Trying to convince me to breathe. Telling me to stop crying.

_I was crying? I was crying. Tears poured ceaselessly down my face._

Then there were arms. They circled me. Directed my head onto their chest. Held me close while the sobs racked my body.

Then there were eyes. Dark eyes. Watching me closely, seeing my pain, reflecting my sad form.

Xavier.

And then there was darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry it has taken so long for me to update - I got ladden down with heaps of stuff and suddenly time became a very precious thing. Anyways, here it is, please review. :)  
Disclaimer: as I am _sure_ I have said before - I own nothing. **

This was it. Today was the day.  
It was the day that the Games would start.  
Somehow, I managed to drag myself out of bed and get dressed. I compiled a short list in my head for things I had to do:

1) Have breakfast. Last meal before...well...  
2) Get dressed (properly) in the outfit that would see me into these Games, but not necessarily out.  
3) Stay calm and breathe (oh wait, maybe that should have been first?)  
4)Survive.

A short list, yes, but a list nonetheless. I needed to have some kind of organisation to my movements otherwise I would just become a big walking ball of chaos, and would probably end up stumbling off the plate in the Games and being blown to pieces.

And well, that just couldn't happen.

Breakfast was a sordid affair, and a fog of silence hung over the room. It was like being back in that bus; back what seemed like years and not just days ago. Everyone was withdrawn.  
Even Xavier, smarmy cocky Xavier, was silent. I was free for the first time since I had known him from his arrogant comments and rude asides.  
Unbidden, the memory of the interview night flared up in my mind, like a small flame that had caught on a large pile of scrunched up paper.

_Arms, strong, holding me together. It was all that was keeping me from falling apart.  
__Fingers, brushing across my bruises, assessing the damage.  
__Eyes, watching me break down, watching me suffer.  
__Mouth, whispering my name, trying to bring me back to the real world.  
__A feeling, stirring deep within my chest, which I didn't recognise and didn't need.  
__A warmness spreading through my body as I felt safe, safe with him, safe...  
__Xavier, half-carrying me up to my room and lying me in bed, leaving me to the heavy sleep that followed._

The mere memory brought a blush to my cheeks. It was stupid. Ridiculous. But that didn't stop the pink from staining my cheeks. I looked at Xavier across the table. He was staring into his plate, jaw slowly working as he chewed his food, and I could tell that, for perhaps the first time in his life, Xavier was actually thinking. A pang of sadness shot through me as I realised that very soon, this boy could well die. Not without putting up a fight, of course, but still.

Feeling my gaze, Xavier's head snapped up, and his eyes narrowed in my direction.

"What?" he spat at me.

I was taken aback. My mouth just opened and closed, opened and closed, like a fish. Words wouldn't form in my head. This wasn't what I had expected. Of course, I didn't know what I _had _expected, but it was certainly not this...

"Noth-nothing," I muttered, focusing on tearing the piece of bread in my hands into crumbs.

A snort came from his direction, shortly followed by the scraping of a chair. The next moment I looked up he was gone. I glanced around the room, and spotted him just walking out as the door swung shut behind him. Quickly, I jumped up to follow him, leaving my tray on the table with most of the food still on it.  
I don't know what made me follow him, but I did.  
Sprinting out into the corridor, I spotted him waiting for the elevator. Dimly, I registered that in a way we had reversed positions – him pushing angrily for the elevator, impatience clear on his body, and me following shortly behind.  
Hearing my footsteps he turned to glance at me, and his expression turned dark.

"Seriously, what the hell do you want?" he asked me.

The elevator and we both stepped inside, although I could tell he probably wanted nothing less than to be stuck in a small metal box with the likes of me.

"I...I wanted to know what was wrong. I mean, I thought that we were...partners or something," I said, and only afterwards realised how stupid I sounded. Not three days ago I was refusing to accept any ally, worried about traitors and me endangering them, but now...

Now I wanted Xavier. As a friend, an ally, in the arena. I was crazy – but that had been established long before my name was reaped.  
With a false laugh, he turned to face me.

"Babe, just because I pulled you out of that murderous crowd doesn't mean I give a crap about you. Okay? I don't want – or need – to be partnered with you. It makes no logistical sense, and even Katniss agreed with me. So don't waste your time. Go get yourself dolled up, and I will see you in the arena," he replied, tone implying that the conversation was now over.

But I found myself saying something in reply, even though a small voice inside my head screamed at me to leave it at that.

"You had a private meeting with Katniss?" I asked.

Rolling his eyes, he nodded. There was something condescending in that entire gesture and I found my anger flaring up again.

"Great. Fantastic. Any tips for me from the wise one?" I said sarcastically.

"Eliza, just shut up, okay? I don't care what you have to say, never really did. The Game start today, and the only person I care about is me. Actually, it was all I ever cared about. You must have gotten the wrong impression, but I never tried to be anything other than me. Sorry to disappoint you, but deal with it toots," he said calmly, sighing as if he was dealing with a silly five year old. Before I knew it I was yelling at him.

"Well EXCUSE ME for not being able to interpret your MULTIPLE PERSONALITY DISORDER. See, NORMAL people don't change so quickly, NORMAL people actually act the same way all the time, NORMAL people actually show a bit of human decency once in a while. But I guess you AREN'T normal, are you Xavier? No, you are just a pig-headed guy who for some reason got the idea in his head that he is better than everybody else. Well you know what? Screw you. I hope you get hurt in that arena, because then it may actually let you know how REAL people are supposed to feel. And then maybe, just maybe, you will feel human when you die," I screamed at him, feeling as if the fuse that had slowly been burning since I arrived here had finally reached the stick of dynamite and blown up.

His face turned stony, cold as ice.

"Do me a favour, kay babe? Don't talk to me, don't come near me, don't even think about me ever again. Because if you do, you may just well die at my hand. And I should let you know that I probably won't regret it," he replied, voice low and steady as he delivered this fatal blow.

As if timed, the elevators opened and he let himself out.  
I may have just lost my only ally.  
I may have just lost the only person that ever showed any outward signs of...caring for me. Even if I was confused as hell as to whether he meant it or not, if he wanted to help, I felt my heart beat the slightest bit faster at the thought.  
He was smarmy, stupid, a pain in the you-know-where, but somehow I had grown to like him. Maybe it was just the fact that he saved me from a bunch of blood-thirsty people clearly ravenous for my pain, or maybe it was because he had been there nearly every step of the way at the training centre. Either way, I couldn't help but break a little inside at my next realisation.  
I may have just lost the only guy I ever liked.

* * *

With barely an utterance from Miss, I was dressed in battle gear. Simple clothes. Tightly fitted. I was in a full body suit, which felt like a heavy course woollen fibre but was actually miraculously light. My hands were covered in gloves, also made of the same navy blue material as the rest of my suit, and my feet were clad in heavy boots with a woollen interior. They weren't dissimilar to the ones I already owned, and they felt quite comfortable on my feet. Most of what Miss had dressed me in seemed waterproof, absorbing most of the sweat that seemed to be pouring off my body as the seconds ticked by.

I was ready.

Simple suit, simple hairstyle, simple everything.  
Simply put – it was time.

I stepped into the glass elevator chute, after they had inserted the tracker into my arm, and before long I was being raised into the arena. Before I could no longer see the room below me, I noticed Miss staring dejectedly up at me and, perhaps I was imagining things, maybe a tear on her cheek. Maybe Miss wasn't as hard-skinned as she appeared to me.

But I had no time for those thoughts. They were irrelevant. They wouldn't help me survive, so they were cast away.

The platform stopped.

I saw the Cornucopia first, laden with gifts and presents just waiting to be fought over and killed for.

And I saw white.

I was surrounded by white.

The final Hunger Games was to be set in a Winter Wonderland.

And then the horn rang out, blaring across the acres of pure white that encased the land and before I set off into a sprint, running for the supplies because my life depended on it, this thought occurred: I was going to die in the snow.

You can be sure that the irony was not lost on me.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I know this is a relatively short chapter, and that some of you are probably getting irked at me for Eliza, but please bear with me. I have a plan. It just needs to happen…thanks for reading, and (hopefully) enjoy!**

My breath came in short quick gasps as I used all my strength to push forwards towards the golden spiral glinting in the sunlight amongst the blinding whiteness of the fallen snow. Sound fell away from my ears until all I could hear was the blood rushing in my veins, my pulse pounding in my ears and my feet squelching through snow which was up to my knees.

From the corner of my eye I could see everyone surging forward, attention being paid only to the Cornucopia. For a moment, only for a moment, none of us were focused on killing each other, only on the one thing that we all knew would have something of use to us. From where I was I couldn't see anything distinguishing there yet, only small lumps of snow on the golden cone, and I hoped that there was something there for me. Maybe a small backpack of food and water, or maybe a small knife.

All I knew was that in this cold harsh arena, that Cornucopia was probably the only thing that would help me – or anyone else stay alive.

I was so close now, and I had already picked a sizeable lump which I just planned to grab and run with. I couldn't risk staying very long. Xavier had already proved that I was useless at combat, and I would be even more so in a group fight. I had to grab and flee. Grab and run for my life.

Grab and hope that the others wouldn't pay any attention to me.

I was there, within arm's reach. I grabbed at the lump of snow and took off.

But something was odd.

As I ran, the lump fell to pieces – snow falling away to the ground leaving me with...

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

My heart dropped, leaving me with the curious sensation of walking without a heartbeat. Coming to a complete stop, so quick I felt the sting of pain in my knees, I risked turning around and looking at the others. Maybe it was just the surprise that made me do something so stupid, or maybe it was the adrenaline fooling me, but either way I turned around. And what I saw made my heart plunge even further.

Every single person – from Xavier to a girl with a rather large nose – was standing around the Cornucopia with a look of pure shock etched on their faces. In any other situation it probably would have been comical – so many people staring flabbergasted at a simple golden spiral, as if they were sharing the same brain just in different bodies – but as it were it only meant one thing to me.

That the Cornucopia, like the lump of snow that feel to pieces in my hand, was empty. The Game Makers were going to leave us in this frozen wasteland with absolutely nothing.

Slowly, time that I had not realised had slowed down sped up again, double time, and the shock and surprise and bafflement was quickly washed off everyone's faces, leaving behind a streak of fright on some and pure cruelty on others. Everyone was poised to take action – but no one seemed to know what the action. Until someone bent down and dug through the snow.

I could feel my eyebrows rising at this. What could this person be doing? My mind was running through the possibilities – ranging from impossible to utterly nonsensical – as to what that person's intention was.

But it was only as soon as that person dug out a rock and chucked it at the nearest person, spraying dark red blood across the crisp snow and making that person fall to the ground with their eyes blank, that my brain finally caught up with what I was seeing.

And before I knew it, I was sprinting. Sprinting away from the barbaric scene that was surely going on behind me, sprinting towards...

Towards anything but that.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Sorry it has taken a while to upload, but at least this chapter is considerably longer than the previous one. Enjoy...  
Disclaimer: I am not gonna bother with these anymore - I am pretty sure you get the picture. **

_Bang. _

Each cannon fire renewed my strength, helping me to push that much further onwards. It gave purpose to my burning legs and made the fire that had been set on my lungs seem worth it. It restarted my heart, shook me to my core, sent shivers down my spine, and it made me keep going.

_Bang. _

I could feel goose-bumps breaking out across my arms – and they weren't from the cold.

Just the thought, the thought that while I was running for my life, the life I still had, someone else's life had just ended, made my skin crawl. One of those kids, kids that I saw each day at training, and at the interviews, and around the capitol, they were gone.

Gone forever.

I imagined their families, weeping, begging the television screen for it not to be so, but it was.

It was so.

We were here, we were fighting, we were dying. Dying to survive.

_Bang_.

The bang scared me, startled me out of the trance-like rhythm I had been running in, and I fell to the floor. The snow was too frozen, not the soft comfy slush that I used to play around in when I was younger, so I landed hard on my hands and knees.

I tried to stand, but I couldn't. My thoughts were weighing me down to much, and even the steady fall of tears down my face didn't make me any lighter. I had to move, but my legs refused to work. With a frantic twist of my head, I found a tree to my left, and I dragged myself towards it with all the strength I had left in me.

I nestled myself against its roots. Only as an afterthought did I consider dredging up as much snow as I could around me to offer some kind of concealment. Even with the snow as hard and frozen as it was, I managed to build myself a little wall that might hide me.

Might.

It was the best I could do.

With my body arguing in loud screams against me, there was nothing I could do but keep my fingers crossed, crossed as tightly as possibly, and hope to whoever deserved my hoping that I would be safe.

Just for another day.

And, with my tears freezing little trails on my face, I fell asleep.

Fell asleep to the sounds of cannon fires and the distorted version of the Capitol anthem.

Fell asleep to the sounds of being alone.

* * *

I woke up in a shudder, a shudder so strong that the snow around me was vibrating and that I could feel my back developing a rather large bruise from where it kept hitting the tree. For a moment I didn't know where I was, who I was, or what I was meant to be doing.

And what a blissful moment it was.

But, as always, reality came rudely crashing down on my momentary bliss, causing a new fear to set itself deep within myself.

How long had I been asleep? How many cannon fires had I missed? Had I also slept through any announcements? I couldn't have…could I?

It was almost too much. Too much to handle. Too much for my sleep addled brain to fully grasp.

And on top of that, was the hunger. The hunger that had buried itself in my stomach and refused to budge. The hunger that was constantly drawing attention to itself through grumbles and groaning noises.

Again, I noticed how cruel this all was. How unfair. How downright…awful. There was nothing, nothing at all, for us to use. No tools, no water, no food, no blankets…nothing. Surely, at least, there must be SOMETHING in this arena that would satisfy, or at least sate, the hunger I felt.

It was time to go hunting – it was the only choice I had left. My stomach was growling to loudly for my liking, and it could be the death of me if I wasn't careful. I had to eat, or I would die – possibly in more ways than one.

* * *

_Slowly, Eliza, take it slowly. No need to rush. Be quiet, stay stealthy, keep alive._

I repeated this to myself multiple times. In my head, of course, for what was the point in telling myself to be careful if the whole arena hears it as well? Slowly, ever so slowly, I crept through the snow, taking great pains to be as silent as possible.

And all I saw, throughout my expedition, was this:

Trees. Dead trees. Trees with big roots, completely covered in snow.

And snow. Snow, snow and more snow. The arena was bland, uninteresting, drenched in the frozen whiteness of the snow.

It reminded me of…a graveyard. A haunted graveyard from horror stories.

At least I had my answer to water. That was simple enough, as long as the Gamemakers hadn't put some kind of poison in it. On second thought, I wouldn't put it past them. Maybe I should wait and see if the snow is poison.

_Keep going. Come on, keep going. There has to be something around here. Keep looking, never stop looking…_

Even with fear ebbing at my thoughts, I was growing bored. Bored of the ceaseless snow and trees. I found my mind wandering, conjuring up things to keep me interested and awake, keep me walking forwards. The spindly trees, arms twisting in many different shapes and directions, provided inspiration for my imagination. Without warning, my brain – now somewhat disconnected from the rest of my – brought to me a memory, a memory from so long ago, a memory I had tried to erase and forget…

"_Grandfather, what are you doing?" I asked.  
__With a condescending smile, he turned to me, aiming his twisted grin in my direction.  
_"_You will see, my sweet, you will see…" he replied.  
__I felt myself grow infuriated at his ambiguity, but before I had a chance to draw attention to this fact, he pointed his finger towards the stage. __We were sitting on a balcony, high up in the Capitol, above many. I was young, no older than seven or eight, and I assumed we were going to watch some boring old stage production.  
_"_What is it, Grandfather, what is it? I can't see!" I said, tugging on the cuff of his shirt.  
__With a barely suppressed smirk, he lifted me up onto his broad shoulders. __I could see the stage clearly now, see the guards lining either side of it, expressions of firm detachment planted on their faces.  
_Great, _I thought, _A military play. Only Grandfather likes those.  
_I began fidgeting, annoyed at why I was here, why Grandfather was making me see this. __A guard walked onto the stage, dragging a man in shackles behind him. The guard shoved the shackled man on the floor, uncaring. The shackled man looked very bruised and battered.  
_Wow, good make-up, _I thought.  
__I had long since known that what was on the stage was completely made up – everything had a purpose, nothing was there for no reason.  
__The bruises looked so real, and his clothing was dirty and torn to perfection. Very clever stage hands. I knew a lot about the stage – Grandad had a lot of connections, and never ceased to introduce me to as many people as possible. I had always loved the people that worked on the stage – they were fascinating, amazing, and full of fun.  
__The guard drew attention to himself again by talking to the crowd in a deep booming voice. I couldn't catch what he was saying from where I was perched on my Grandfathers shoulders, but I believed that I understood what he was saying. __And then, without any more talking, they tied the shackled man to a contraption set at the back of centre stage. They tied his arms and legs, all to separate pieces of rope attached to separate pieces of pole.  
__And the guards began turning a small wheel attached to the right of it.  
__And I could see, I could see the shackled man being stretched. And I could hear the shackled man starting to scream.  
__And I soon began to doubt whether this was a show at all.  
__And he was still being pulled.  
__Still being stretched.  
__Still being ripped apart.  
__His arms and legs were being twisted out of shape, out of his body.  
__And I knew, I knew right then, that it was real. That it was all real. That my Grandfather, who I could feel laughing beneath me, had done it, had let it happen.  
__And I began screaming too, echoing the final screams of the shackled man. _

SNAP!

I froze where I stood, immediately silencing those thoughts in my head, listening instead to what I heard.

"…look at that, you see that?" a voice said, to my left, but far away.

Without a second thought, as stealthily as I could, I moved to where the voice was coming from. I pulled myself up into one of the sturdiest looking trees, and sat in a fork most covered by snow to offer protection. It was better than running – I would have made too much noise in my haste and probably ended up in an even worse position to the one I was now in.

Scarcely breathing, I cocked my head to hear better.

"See _what_?" another voice said in an exasperated reply. It was higher pitched – I had to assume it was a girl.

"_That!" _he said, matching her tone in one as equally exasperated.

I leaned forward, careful not too dislodge any of the surrounding snow, to see what he was talking about.

From my obscured point of view, I could see a hole. A hole in the ground. But it was far too big for a rabbit hole, it looked big enough for a…

A person.

My heart beat faster, and I willed it to slow down lest it be heard by the keen ears of those below me.

"Oh…" the girl's voice whispered, understanding finally dawning.

And then they both crept forwards, crept towards the hole in the snow…

Vaguely, I wondered how that person had dug a hole in such hard snow, how they had managed that on top of running for their life. But I became distracted almost immediately by what the girl and the boy were doing.

The girl had a rock grasped in her right hand, quite tight, and without pause she chucked it down the hole with what appeared to be all her strength.

And a voice, a voice from down that hole, issued a startled yelp of pain.

And I knew that voice, I recognised it, I imagined the face to go with that voice.

Anders. The boy who held my hand back while we were waiting for someone, anyone, to say goodbye.

And then, with a look quickly shared between the both of them, the boy and the girl began filling in the hole.

I had to stuff my hand in my mouth to stop myself from uttering a cry of protest. They pushed the snow that Anders had built up around the hole back into it, and began stamping it down.

I could hear Anders shouting, see the hole bulge back upwards as he struggled against the falling snow.

But they were too fast for him. It was almost too easy for them to push all the snow back in and stand on top of it, squashing it down and allowing little room for air.

I couldn't believe it, I didn't want to see this, but I had no choice. I had to keep silent. I had to keep still.

I had to watch these two people, no, these two monsters, kill.

I watched as Anders efforts grew considerably weaker – there seemed to be no pushing up of the snow any more, not that I could see. I couldn't hear anything but the boy's and the girl's laboured breaths.

The wait for that cannon fire was excruciating. It dragged on, endless. I imagined Anders final moments, a thought I couldn't push out of my head, and I imagined what it must feel like. I was almost frozen – both inside and out – by the time the cannon fire released Anders from this world officially.

But that wasn't the end of it.

Promptly after the two below me had heard that sound, they began digging him back up. For a second, just for a second, I thought they were going to help the hover-crafters to get to him.

But that was destroyed the minute they dragged out his now lifeless body from the ground, sharing the weight between both of them.

Apparently, some had discovered that food may not be a big a problem as previously considered.

I mean, after all, there were at least 16 full meals left in this arena now.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Sorry it took me so long. But here is the next chapter. :)**

I didn't want to move. Didn't want to breathe. Wanted to forget what I had seen, erase it from my memory. But, like the landscape around me, it was frozen – frozen to the forefront of my brain.

This cold was getting on my nerves. It was endless, unchanging, and it made be angry to realise that my body had become used to the shudders that occurred every minute. My lips, frozen stiff, were starting to crack, and I couldn't help but lick them on occasion, which only made it worse.

With uncooperative muscles, I began to work my way down the tree. I needed to start moving again, or I may just end up sticking to the tree, dying of my namesake.

With a dull thump on the snow covered ground, I landed. My ankles screamed in pain against this sudden movement, and I struggled not to cry out. My brain was sluggish and I could barely focus on putting one foot in front of the other. I didn't even notice the sound my feet were making as I sloshed through the snow.

I was numb, inside and out.

My stomach gurgled, demanding food that I didn't have and couldn't get. My mouth was dry, parched, but I didn't dare touch the snow. My hands shook, and I couldn't hold still. But what I needed most was heat. Something to keep me warm so my muscles didn't freeze, so I wouldn't get hypothermia, so I might actually be able to die fighting, not die standing blank-eyed and frozen as my attacker got to me.

My brain conjured up a lovely image from this line of thought. Me, walking through the forest, head slowly turning to face my attacker, seeing the bloodlust in their eyes, the snarl on their face, and me not doing a single thing, just standing there, frozen, waiting.

Shaking of the uncomfortable image (which was made easier considering I was already shaking) I kept on. I didn't even know where I was going.

_Cold. Cold. White. Nothing but cold, cold white._

I felt weak, weaker than weak. My bones were so cold I was afraid they would snap with even the slightest blow. I couldn't feel my toes, or my fingers…I couldn't feel anything, really. And I was afraid to take of my boots in case I met grey flesh – frostbitten flesh. I just couldn't cope with that.

I dragged myself through the snow, keeping my ears pricked for any signs of movement. But there was nothing. And no one.

It freaked me out. I wasn't used to silence. There was always noise – background noise, breathing noise, life noise. But here, it was gone. Sucked out. Made to disappear.

The silence followed me, and each step I took made me that slightly more paranoid and anxious. I may have even welcomed someone to come and attack me – it would mean that I was real, that this was real, that I wasn't just floating in an in-between space between death and…whatever it was I had in the Capitol.

My eyelids were growing heavy, and it grew harder and harder to open my eyes. Before long, I was just walking along blindly, relying heavily on my other senses. I just…didn't feel I could go on. There was no hope. I had no hope.

I kept going. Moving lethargically, not worrying about leaving tracks behind for someone to follow. The loud squelching sound of the ground beneath my feet would have been a dead give-away if there had been anyone near…

Wait a minute.

_Squelching? _

Since when did snow squelch this _loudly_? It left no room for silence, but I didn't understand…

My eyes snapped open and I looked down. The snow was slightly melted, more like slush, and I could even see some of the dirt underneath. But it wasn't any colder. There was no change in temperature. I was still frozen to the core.

I couldn't think fast enough. I felt half asleep, completely dazed, but I couldn't make myself think properly. The rising panic in the back of my mind didn't work on the rest of my body – I was still sluggish and unresponsive. Come on.

Think.

Think.

_Think._

With a crash that sounded just like a squelch, I fell to the floor. The wet slush-that-was-snow seeped through my clothes but I couldn't feel it. I just noticed the feeling of wetness it left behind.

But why, in an arena of perfectly frozen snow in a perfectly frozen atmosphere, is there _wetness? _

Pulling myself up off the ground, I moved forward, still spinning this problem in my mind. As I kept walking, the snow grew thinner, becoming even more slippery and treacherous. Something else was wrong. I felt exposed. I felt like…

There weren't as many trees. Somehow, along the way, the trees had also thinned out. I was moving towards something, but I didn't know what.

But I _did _know. I just couldn't remember. It was tickling the back of my mind like an itch I couldn't scratch, and I had no idea how to make it more prominent.

_What did I know? What?_

And slowly, as slow as my legs were moving and brain was functioning, I came into a completely open space.

With the Cornucopia in the middle.

With a ring of dirt surrounding it.

No snow.

Not anymore.

* * *

With a startled cry, my legs started moving at a more normal pace, finally understanding what it needed to do. My brain still wasn't responding, but that was ok. I knew, somehow, that I needed to get to the Cornucopia.

I slipped and slided along the slick surface of the melted snow.

And then, miraculously, I felt the crunch of dirt underneath my feet. I was so surprised that I fell, landing against the Cornucopia.

It…

Was…

_Warm…_

_It was warm, it was warm, it was warm, it was warm…._

With a weird sort of sigh, I pulled myself as close as I possibly could towards it. Obviously, after the initial bloodbath, it had been turned on, like a heater melting the things around it, drawing power from underneath the ground, but not enough to warm up the atmosphere.

But I didn't care about that. That was just the little logical voice that needed to figure things out.

All I cared about was the warmth.

And my eyes, which were already heavy, closed and stayed close.

_Warm, warm, warm…_

* * *

"Morning Princess," a voice said.

Gradually, I was able to open my eyes. Even though I really didn't want to. For a moment there, I was back home, back where there was warmth and heat and light and a life…

I opened my eyes to see Xavier standing right near me.

With a large rock in his hand, poised above his head, waiting to come down.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: So. It's been a while. SORRY. Time got away from me. But I do plan on finishing this soon. Please, whoever reads this, please don't hate me. At least I got around to updating it...eventually...**

**Disclaimer: Own nothing. **

That smile. That sarcastic, slightly menacing smile.

The warmth of the Cornucopia didn't help me move quickly. All I did was lay there, gazing up at him, waiting for the darkness that he would surely cause. I closed my eyes.

And waited.

Time did what it was very good at doing – it slowed down, drawing out the anticipation and making the moment stretch on endlessly. I could hear his shallow breaths, I could feel the power he felt, as he stood above me.

Surely, death should have come by now. Opening my eyelids the tiniest fraction, I saw his smile drop. Maybe there was hope yet. Yet, he drew his arm back further, preparing himself.

And with all the strength that his body allowed, he threw it.

There was a thud behind me.

Suddenly filled with adrenaline that had refused to exist moments before my death, I sprung up from the ground and twisted around, seeing a rather pug-nosed boy lying there, blood trickling from a head wound. Xavier pushed past me, picked up the rock for the ground, and attacked the boy with it. I turned my head away. I couldn't witness another death, couldn't bear to.

The blast of the canon filled the air. Xavier stopped, rock still clutched tightly in his hand. Small drops of blood were splattered across his hand and face. Lifting his elbow, he wiped his face on his sleeve, smearing the blood more than anything.

"There's your free card, babe. That's all you get," he spoke to me. There was the barest echo of a smile on his face.

"Xavier…I don't…" I started. I just didn't know what to say to him.

"Sh. One free pass. Next time it's you the rock is going for," he said all too seriously, and I had no doubt he meant it.

"But, why?" I just couldn't wrap my head around it.

He paused. Unusual.

"I felt sorry for you. You got nothing. You were dealt the crap hand from the get go. And that just isn't…"

He never got to finish the sentence.

A crudely built spear had pierced his chest. He blinked, and looked down.

"Huh," was all he could say as he collapsed on the ground.

Without thinking, I rushed to him. He blinked up at me, eyes losing focus. He started to blur in front of me, and I realised I was crying. The Eliza from when I first met him would have laughed at myself. How had I come to care for Xavier?

I felt a nudge at my hand. A persistent nudge. I glanced down to find Xavier's blood covered hand pushing the rock into my own.

"R-r-run. Run, babe," he stuttered, gurgling at the last words. He started coughing up blood, dissolving into a fit before finally collapsing. The boom of the canon startled me out of my frozen position.

I didn't need to be told again. With a parting glance at Xavier, and as I wiped my face clear of the tears that had fallen, I sprinted away from the warmth.

I ran to the beat of a thousand canon fires echoing in my mind.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: what is this? two chapters in one night? THIS IS A RECORD. Again, sorry for the whole 'not writing in two years thing' (if anyone is actually still reading this). But hey TWO CHAPTERS :D Anyways 3**

**Disclaimer: own nothing**

As I was running, I began to notice something.

The sound of someone running behind me. Even though my instincts screamed against it, I turned my head around, for just a second, to see Zambia running behind me.

She faltered. But then she continued pounding after me.

She seemed resolved. Resolved to kill me.

In her hand, she was grasping the crude spear. In my brief glance, I could still see the blood dripping from it. Xavier's blood.

She had killed Xavier.

And that's when I stopped running, and when I turned to face her. The glass of our past shattered – all those pinkie promises, the niceties before the Games, they all vanished. Destroyed as I saw it was all a façade. She was stronger than she looked. And meaner.

Maybe it was all just a ploy to get me to trust her again. Or maybe it was the Games that turned her into this hard killer, as it sought to do to us all.

Either way, there was no time to think. It was time to fight.

Recalling my sparring battles with Xavier, I tried to guess what she would do. I could still feel the bruises on my body from training. They were a reminder of my weaknesses, where I need to focus.

I watched her closely. She held on to the spear, clearly knowing that if she threw it and it missed me, she'd be down a weapon and I'd be up one.

She shifted her stance, changing her grip from spear to sword. She edged closer, teeth bared. My fist closed even tighter around the rock in my hand, and I felt a pinch as its sharp edge pierced my skin. It didn't matter. One drop of blood would be nothing compared to the blood that would be spilled in the next few moments, I was sure.

She lunged, thrusting the spear towards the left of my stomach. I twisted out of the way, quickly smashing my rock down on the spear and knocking it away from my body. Unfortunately, the spear was stronger than it looked, and all I did was merely push her away for a few seconds. While she was regaining her footing, I kicked at her knees.

My kick was misdirected, and rather than giving myself the advantage, I had given her one of the most important parts of my body, crucial to my survival, to my ability to run away.

Sure enough, with a gleam in her eye, she brought the spear down on my leg, pinning me to the snow.

Screaming in pain, I fell. My leg was on fire, and the cold ground did nothing to sooth it. I closed my eyes, trying to blink away the hot tears that had sprung to my eyes. I clutched the rock to my chest.

"Well now. This is it. If I'd known you were this easy to fight, I wouldn't have bothered trying to even get on your good side. I only bothered because I figured, someone in the group must have a conscience. Even if it's a quiet one – just to not kill the girl who was nice and kind first. That's all. A few extra seconds of survival," she said to me, crouching down until her face was at my level.

There was a coldness in her eyes, a deadness. That girl I had once known was long gone.

And that's when I lost all sense of guilt and punched her in the face with the rock. The look of shock was well worth the roaring anger that she reeled back with. She staggered around for a few moments, fuming. And that's when I did it.

With as much courage as I could muster, I pulled the spear from my leg, biting down on my lip hard. The taste of blood filled my mouth as I whimpered in pain. I struggled to my feet, favouring my left leg.

But now I had another weapon, held behind my back.

As Zambia came charging towards me, hands outstretched, I just held out the spear. Held the spear directly at her heart.

She realised too late that I had her weapon. I held it straight and true, tensing all my muscles to keep it straight and all too soon I had a Zambia attached to it, face directly in front of mine. I could feel her hot breath on my face, as they became shallower and shallower. She seemed confused.

Horrified, I let go of the spear, and Zambia collapsed against me. It seemed it was my strength that had kept her standing. We fell into the snow, and I could feel the other end of the spear digging into me as it was pushed deeper into her body. Her warm blood trickled down my neck as the canon fired.

I tried to push her away from me, but the adrenaline that had kept me strong suddenly disappeared, and the pain came flaring back to my leg. I tried, but she was a dead weight. I just lay there for a moment, realising what I had done.

I had just killed someone.

I no longer had witnessed death.

I had caused it.

With a lot of wriggling and squirming, I pushed most of her off me. My lungs expanded as I could breathe properly, without that terrible weight on my chest.

Using the little strength in my arms, I pulled my legs from underneath her, screaming in pain as my leg caught on the spear, tearing the skin open even more. As I crawled away from her, my leg was bleeding heavily, leaving a trail of darkness leading from her body to mine.

My heart was still beating fast, and I willed it to slow. The more my heart beat, the more blood I would lose, and the quicker I would die.

And hadn't I just proven that I didn't want to die? Hadn't I just shown that I clearly valued my own life above everyone else's?

This was too much to handle. I hated this. I hated the death I had seen and the murder I had committed and the fact that I was losing a lot of blood and that my body temperature was rapidly dropping.

Not only was I in pain, I was in the open. Anyone could see me.

I saw the rock that Xavier had given me. I crawled towards it, and grabbed it. And that was all I could do.

As the blood ebbed from my body, and as the cold finally decided to claim me, I hugged the rock to my chest. Maybe, somehow, I would make it through this.

Hours seemed to pass, and I began to float away, leaving the pain and death behind.

The last thing before darkness was the sound of a canon blast.


End file.
